


Episode 3 - Breakfast Serial

by RobertBruceScott



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek RPF, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Murder Mystery, Philosophy, Serial Killers, Surfing, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobertBruceScott/pseuds/RobertBruceScott
Summary: The crew of the U.S.S. Hunter are headed to Star Base 11 - and the planet it orbits (Ocean) for 3 weeks shore leave and surfing.But a serial killer has other plans and the Hunter's crew become embroiled in a murder mystery that keeps getting bigger - and more personal...





	1. Episode 3.1 - Landing Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the process of migrating Episodes 2-4 from a larger post. Once I have them migrated, I will delete them from the original post and it will become Episode 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Flight Operations Department plans for an air show while landing the U.S.S. Hunter on the main island on Ocean. 
> 
> But their director has more elaborate plans - to use this opportunity as a training exercise for his pilots...
> 
> _The entire department swiveled to look at Lt. Dolphin, seated at the other end of the table. Dolphin was grinning ear to ear. “A simultaneous manual landing…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 3 starts innocently, but will quickly go off the rails when a serial killer strikes...

3 - Breakfast Serial

_“The underlying problem in ethics is a failure to think things through. A true ethical system is not a set of rules, but a dedication to thinking through all the implications and potential consequences of our actions. People are always trying to invent simple lists of rules to follow and those simple rules are invariably hopelessly inadequate…” Dr. Kenny Dolphin,_ _The Morality of Hybridizing Sentient Species_ _._

3.1  
Landing Plans

The Hunter’s flight operations department were seated around a long, curving teak table in the large conference room behind the bridge. The table followed the shape of the room. The department director, Lt. Dolphin, sat at one end of the table along with his assistant director, 2nd Lt. Gamor. The command staff - Captain Irons, Commander Pepper and Lt. Commander Mlady - were at the other end. The flight team - Guth, Salazaar, Dih and Chin - headed by Ensign Phillips, and the navigation team - Johanna Imex and Eli Strahl - were seated around the table. It was the first departmental meeting since the Flight Operations Director position had finally been filled after being vacant for nearly two years.

Pep was holding forth. “Non-emergency landing protocol for this boat is for the platform and tactical units to separate and land independently. The wagon and the interceptors are also to land independently and to be placed for optimal access depending on ground operation and bunking plans. We’ll be landing on the largest island on Ocean and we’ll be parked for three weeks shore leave. Coming in, I want to give our hosts a nice air show - Hunter..”  
The boat’s holographic avatar - in the form of an older man with a white lab coat and a gray beard - appeared in miniature standing on the table - only 6 inches tall. The holographic emitters transformed the tabletop into an island with red-streaked white beaches and reddish ocean waves lapping at its edges. At this scale, the six-inch-tall man towered over several low buildings near the beach. “You will approach from the west, flying in out of the afternoon sun,” Hunter said, pointing toward a corner of the ceiling. Tiny versions of the separated tactical unit and platform of the U.S.S. Hunter, along with the wagon and two interceptors almost too small to be seen, swooped down from the ceiling in diamond-slot formation and maintained formation as they made three passes around the conference table, spiraling inward with each pass to approach the landing zone.  
Pep continued, “Wayne and Winnie will fly the interceptors. Ethan will fly the wagon. Gaia has the tactical unit and the maneuvers and simultaneous landing will be coordinated by Director Kenny.” As he said this, the emitters changed the scene to enlarge the landing zone and depict the five flying units landing simultaneously on marked locations on the tarmac. “The piece-de-resistance - a simultaneous landing,” Pep concluded. The hologram faded, leaving the 6-inch tall, antique looking holographic avatar standing alone on the antique teak table.

The miniature old man looked right, then left, then vanished with an unnecessarily comic puff of virtual smoke.

Winnifred Salazaar spoke up, “so we’ll link our flight computers to the bridge pilot console?”  
Justice Irons cleared her throat, then said, “It will be a manual landing, Mr. Salazaar.”  
The entire department swiveled to look at Lt. Dolphin, seated at the other end of the table. Dolphin was grinning ear to ear. “A simultaneous manual landing…” Dolphin continued, then with a pause for emphasis: “Visual Flight Rules.”  
While no one actually groaned, there was an audible sigh as the air was let out of nearly everyone in the department.  
Dih Terri found her voice: “I thought manual operation - except for interceptors - was only if the computer is down or the mission outside computer tolerance..”  
Lt. Dolphin smiled even more broadly. “There is another condition under which manual flight and VFR are allowed… Gaia…”  
Lt. Gamor continued, “Training. You never know when you might have to fly stick with no instruments. You need to be good at it.”  
Dolphin continued, “And good only happens with training. Okay - pilots to your birds, set them up for simulation. I will coordinate from the bridge flight simulator in the shuttle bay. The rest of you may return to your duty stations or to your previously scheduled activities…”

3.1

**Crew of the U.S.S. Hunter:** (Ship's Interactive Holographic Avatar - Hunter)

At-Large Appellate Justice, Captain Minerva Irons  
Chief Executive Officer - Commander David Pepper  
Chief Operations Officer - Lt. Commander Mlady

Medical Director - Lt. Commander Tali Shae  
Asst. Medical Director - 2nd Lt. Jazz Sam Sinder  
Ensign Chrissiana Trei  
Forensic Specialist - Midshipman Tolon Reeves  
Forensic Specialist - Midshipman Sif  
Emergency Medical Hologram - Dr. Raj  
Tactical Medical Hologram - Dr. Kim

Director of Flight Operations - Lt. Kenneth Dolphin  
Asst. Flight Dir. - 2nd Lt. Gaia Gamor  
Navigator Johanna Imex  
Navigator Eli Strahl  
Ensign Ethan Phillips  
Chief Flight Specialist Dewayne Guth  
Flight Specialist Dih Terri  
Flight Specialist Joey Chin  
Flight Specialist Winnifreid Salazaar

Director of Ground Operations - Lt. T'Lok Smith  
Asst. Ground Ops Dir. - 2nd Lt. Tauk   
Investigator Lynhart Shran  
Investigator Buttons N'gumbo  
Ensign T'Lon   
Tactical Specialist Jarrong  
Tactical Specialist Belo Reece  
Tactical Specialist Belo Garr  
Tactical Specialist Belo Cantice

Director of Engineering - Lt. Sarekson Carrera  
Asst. Engineering Dir. - 2nd Lt. Moon Sun Salek  
Midshipman Tammy Brazil  
Transporter Engineer K'rok  
Ensign Sun Ho Hui  
Flight Engineer Yolanda Thomas  
Flight Engineer Thomas Hobbs  
Flight Engineer Tomos  
Flight Engineer Kerry Gibbon


	2. Episode 3.2 - Breakfast Serial: Breakfast on the U.S.S. Challenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The serial killer strikes a family onboard the U.S.S. Challenger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took my cue for this segment from the great Stephen King...

3.2  
Breakfast on the U.S.S. Challenger

Lezra Thune had gotten up just to have breakfast with her husband. They were assigned to different shifts this month and this was his shift. She tossed her hair up in a bun, revealing the subtle spots running down the sides of her head and neck, splitting to form two lines toward her breasts and a wider stripe of spots down her back. They were not as pronounced as those on a trill - Lezra was half trill and half human. But the spots were fascinating to her husband, which was refreshing to her. It wasn’t uncommon for her to receive disapproving glances from humans or trills - even in Star Fleet - even here on the U.S.S. Challenger - a deep space vessel where everyone knew everyone else in a crew that numbered less than 180. Mrs. Thune usually wore her hair down, which, along with her uniform, generally covered her spots.  
John Thune stepped up behind his wife, wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck. Then, as she relaxed back into him, he plunged a knife deep into her neck, severing her spine with sudden strength. He had no idea where the knife came from - he stared at it in deep confusion as his wife’s lifeless body slumped to the floor - then just as suddenly he plunged the knife again and again into his own heart - a look of blank horror on his face as he collapsed to the floor, still stabbing himself.   
The Challenger’s life sensors, reading the sudden change in their lifesigns, set off the ship’s klaxons, sending the ship immediately to red alert. Within a minute the Thunes were both beamed directly to the ship’s medical bay - but it was too late for both of them. Both were damaged beyond revival - they had died almost before they had hit the deck.

3.2


	3. Episode 3.3 - Landing Assignments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lt. Dolphin provides landing assignments to his pilots. Each pilot will be accompanied by a senior officer.
> 
> _"To others, her presence was deeply disturbing - like standing too close to a leopard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - so I borrowed an idea from The Tuskegee Airmen... But then, there is no reason Lt. Dolphin might not have been influenced by that movie...

3.3  
Landing Assignments

Five days of training on the U.S.S. Hunter went by as though they were only five minutes - but with new details each day to add to the stress… Starbase Eleven orbited Ocean - a world so-named because it was almost entirely ocean. This made it a superb resource for a starbase - no shortage of water, plenty of raw ore on moons and asteroids scattered throughout the solar system and the small number of islands on the planet’s southern hemisphere were superb for growing food.  
The family that operated the entire multi-island farming complex and the resort on the main island was a large, extended family of vulcans and humans - headed by four vulcan/human hybrid siblings - a son and three daughters of Justice Irons. Their father, the judge’s ex-husband, also lived on the island along with his third wife and several more children. And grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And great, great grandchildren..  
Which made the island an unusually welcoming place for Justice Irons and her crew. Accommodations on the Hunter were cramped and spare, so whenever possible, the crew would spend time planetside. Having the Hunter landed on the island a short walk away from the resort - and the beach where a number of personnel had chosen to camp out under the stars - allowed for a minimal crew to be aboard at any given time.

Thirty minutes before the Hunter reached orbit, Lt. Dolphin gathered the pilots in the shuttle bay for a final standing briefing. “Okay, the last few dry runs went rather well. But simulating manual operation is pretty much a contradiction in terms. The simulators will get you close, but they’re not the real thing. VFR means, among other things, reducing your inertial dampeners. I don’t want you to do that until you’re slowed to 30 kph - that will be about two minutes before we come in for final landing. Feel the wind. If anything feels wrong, switch back to computer control with full dampeners. Trust your guts.”  
“Don’t worry boss, we’re ready,” Guth said.  
“I see Investigator Shran has been contaminating my department too,” Lt. Dolphin observed, dryly, provoking some quiet laughter. “Final assignments - here are your flight-mates… Commander Pepper will be in the chair looking over my shoulder on the main bridge. Lieutenant Gamor - Captain Irons will be on the tactical unit with you.”  
“No pressure at all,” Gaia Gamor quipped, earning a nervous laugh from the other pilots.  
“Since the tactical unit doesn’t actually have windows, you can’t use visual flight rules. So keep your inertial dampeners on full and fly it by the numbers,” Dolphin said.  
“Aye Sir,” Gamor replied.  
“Ethan, you will have Dr. Tali Shae and Mlady on the wagon,” Dolphin observed his ensign suppressing a shiver - Phillips was terrified of Mlady. And he wasn’t the only one. Several crew members were fascinated by the boat’s minuscule operations officer and her catlike grace. To others, her presence was deeply disturbing - like standing too close to a leopard. “Director T’Lok Smith will fly second seat with Salazaar,” Dolphin continued, suppressing a smile as Winnifred Salazaar made a slight fist bump and mouthed a silent “Yes” to himself - T’Lok was wildly popular with the crew. “And Dr. Carrera will ride second seat with you, Guth.”  
Chief Guth raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think he’s forgiven me for getting Ensign Sun into trouble.”  
“Well, you have to bury the hatchet at some point,” Dolphin continued.  
“If he’s riding second seat in the interceptor, the only place for him to bury a hatchet would be in the back of my skull,” Guth observed - provoking much needed laughter among the pilots.  
Dolphin brought his hands together with a loud clap. “Okay - pilots to your stations - Straighten Up!”  
The pilots clapped loudly twice in unison and shouted, “Fly Right!”

3.3


	4. Episode 3.4 - Captain Summers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Summers has quarantined the U.S.S. Challenger and is reaching out to the Hunter's crew to make use of their expert detectives...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Star Fleet recognizing the value of civilian experts - to the extent that when the captain of one ship knows he is out of his league, he reaches out to another who has the civilian assets he needs.

3.4  
Captain Summers 

T’Lok Smith, Tauk, Lynhart Shran and Buttons Ngumbo were seated in the captain’s office across the room from Justice Irons, who sat primly at her desk, her right arm still in a sling. Everyone’s attention was focused on a large viewer on the rear wall. A bearded Star Fleet captain in a red uniform dominated the screen. “Captain Irons,” he was saying, “you might not remember me, but I served on the Intrepid when you were the captain of that vessel. I was just an ensign. Seeing you in command of a Star Fleet vessel again is like a trip back through time. It must have been almost 30 years ago and you haven’t aged a day.”  
“If only that were true, Captain Summers. Unfortunately, it’s the changes on the inside that really take their toll. I do remember a mischievous, bearded young ensign… you wear your years well, Captain. I understand you have ordered your ship stopped and have delayed your visit to Starbase Eleven.”  
“I have quarantined the Challenger, Captain. We had what appeared to be a murder/suicide this morning. But when I reported it to Star Fleet it appears what we’re dealing with is a serial killer. I don’t want to risk your investigators coming aboard, but we don’t have experienced detectives on our crew. I understand your investigative team is exceptional. I would like to have my first officer, Commander Lashonda Williams, coordinate with your team to investigate. The killer must still be on board. I know every person on this crew and since we have been on patrol near the Gamma Quadrant, well outside Federation territory, there is no way any of them could have been involved in the other murders.”  
“We will help however we can. T’Lok?”  
T’Lok smiled, provoking a look of genuine surprise from Captain Summers - he had probably never seen a smiling vulcan before. “Lieutenant Tauk heads my investigations team. She turned to address her assistant director. “Tauk - I will want daily briefings and you are to contact me immediately if you feel it is needed. Since you can’t board the Challenger, you can work from the Ground Ops Center.”  
Justice Irons spoke up. “We can do better than that. I will have my old office at the resort cleared out and your team can set up shop there.”  
Lt. Tauk stood up. “Captain Summers - thank you for reaching out for my team. We will be very happy to have you in our debt.” The little ferengi wore a mischievous grin.  
Summers laughed, then said, “Rule of Acquisition 111… Treat people in your debt like family; exploit them..”  
“I heard you have had extensive dealings with my people,” Tauk said.  
“There is a certain honor and directness about the ferengi I have come to admire, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’re the right man for the job.”

3.4


	5. Episode 3.5 - Surfing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew goes surfing???
> 
> While Lt. Tauk and his investigators tackle the mystery that has a dozen agencies mystified - a serial killer leaving a broad trail of victims.
> 
> _“Tauk,” she said, her voice hushed, “this isn’t murder… It’s genocide..”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I hit on the idea of introducing surfing into a Star Trek story. I love the idea of telling a surfing story in the middle of Star Trek. But the crew's experiences in the surf drive the action across the next several chapters...
> 
> I also like the idea of a half vulcan/half human who is the opposite of Spock - in touch with her feelings, masterful in social situations - warm, comfortable in her own skin, a natural leader whom everybody likes.

3.5  
Surfing 

Less than forty minutes after a perfect, simultaneous landing on the largest island on Ocean, a third of the Hunter’s crew - led by several who had the ability to pull rank - were out of uniform, in swimwear and on the beach. Several were paddling surfboards out onto the waves. T’Lok and T’Lon were already out off the north shore seeking 40’ waves. They had grown up together in Hawaii and were expert surfers.  
Dr. Carrera, who had grown up in Chile and was also an expert surfer, was on the west shore beach giving basic refresher surfing lessons to an odd collection of engineers, doctors, pilots and three of T’Lon’s tactical team. It was really more of a run-through of safety issues. People who worked with T’Lok, T’Lon and Dr. Carrera were generally eager to take advantage of their surfing expertise. As a result, surfing had become a favorite sport among the Hunter’s crew and this was not their first layover at Starbase Eleven.  
Kenny Dolphin had grown up in Rhode Island and had never surfed. That inexperience, plus his height and age made him uniquely awkward. For several hours he failed and failed and failed again to get up on waves that his pilots and navigators surfed effortlessly. At the end of the day, exhausted and waterlogged, he had only managed to stand on the board for a few seconds. 

Tauk worked with his investigators from the ground operations center on the Hunter until the landing was completed. Then they moved into Justice Irons’ old office in the beach resort, which was a dramatic improvement - open, spacious, loaded with communications equipment with multiple screens, computers and workstations much more powerful than would be available on the Hunter. The office was on the second floor with a broad balcony and moveable glass walls that allowed an open view of much of the rest of the Hunter’s crew, enjoying life on the beach. The little ferengi was no fan of seawater and was soon absorbed in his task.  
With help from Investigator Buttons Ngumbo, he plotted an enormous map showing the progression of identified incidents. “Started on the Trill homeworld,” Tauk said. “Ngumbo - that’s victim zero,” he enlarged an image of a dark-haired man with leopard spots on the sides of his neck. “Roger Sass - half human, half trill. Murdered by his wife, Linda Sass.”  
“And she then killed herself?” Buttons asked.  
“No - that’s a new feature to these incidents. It started after the third incident,” Tauk said. “She was caught literally red-handed and requested a telepathic scan, which was conducted by a vulcan named Savar. They both lost consciousness immediately. He recovered. She died within minutes.”  
“You said that the murder/suicides started after the third incident - what about incidents two and three?” Buttons asked.  
“Similar to the first. In one case the telepath was a betazoid, in the other it was another vulcan. In both cases the telepaths experienced tremendous pain and the murderer died immediately. After that, the various detective services got their act together, recognized they were investigating a serial killer and put out alerts to not use telepathic scans,” Tauk said. “And the killer immediately changed M.O. The fourth incident was on Deep Space 9 and that was the first of the murder/suicides. It took two of those to verify that it was the breakfast killer and not an outlier.”  
“Breakfast killer?” Buttons asked.  
Investigator Lynhart Shran had been in communication with the U.S.S. Challenger, downloading every bit of evidence they could send and interviewing various crew members using the viewer at his workstation. He turned around and said, “Killer’s signature. Every incident involved a married couple - one human, one part human/part trill. The human spouse is the killer and then commits suicide. Every one of them takes place over breakfast.”  
“We have the outline now,” Tauk said. “T’Lok,” the communicator embedded in the young lieutenant’s chest keyed his voice to Lt. T’Lok Smith’s communicator.  
“Go ahead Tauk,” T’Lok responded. “Are you planning to take me off my beach?”  
Tauk was excited, “We have an outline and a strategy. It would be easier if you come to us. This is a nice office. By the way - we saw you and T’Lon out on those big waves - you looked good out there..”  
T’Lok laughed - Tauk could hear the warmth in her voice. “We’ve had a great day out here while you and your men have been hard at work. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Make that 30. Go ahead and order some food and let your guys hit the beach.”

Small cooking fires had started up on the beach and many of the Hunter’s crew were bunked outside under the stars. A few were stationed on the Hunter’s platform unit at all times, and the pilots bunked either in the open or in small tents near the tactical unit, the wagon and the two interceptors. Others stayed in the resort. The Hunter’s first and second officers, Pep and Mlady, made the rounds together, visiting each group on the beach.   
Dolphin also made the rounds, taking time to take a drink or eat a morsel with each of the groups. He crossed paths a few times with T’Lok and T’Lon, who were doing the same, together, sometimes walking with arms linked. They had been friends since early childhood.  
Kenny Dolphin parted ways with the young vulcans and found a space not too isolated, but not in anyone’s path to lay down on the beach and look up at the stars. It had been ages since he had felt so much at peace - longer than he could remember. For forty-five years he had lived in New England and New York - never even venturing as far as Pennsylvania.   
Here he was at age 51 on another planet for the first time in his life. The island was gorgeous, the weather was perfect, warm and comfortable. And there was something about the air that seemed to clear his head. Time seemed to stand still even as the stars moved slowly overhead. He didn’t want to think about anything - just to soak up this moment.

Lt. Dolphin gradually became aware of Ensign T’Lon not because he heard her or saw her, but rather he felt her mind, wordlessly seeking and receiving permission to join him. She lay down silently next to him. No words or physical contact. They didn’t look at each other. But he was aware of her mind very lightly in contact with his - a wordless presence within arm’s reach, a mental touch, silently sharing the moment with him.

When Lt. T’Lok Smith finally joined Tauk in the investigations office it was dark outside, Buttons and Shran had left and Tauk had not turned on any lights. He sat in the glow of several surrounding workstations looking quite glum. His mood contrasted considerably with the ebullience T’Lok had heard in the young ferengi’s voice over the communicator only a half-hour previously.  
A neat progression was displayed holographically in the center of the room with eight incident markers following a curving line from the Challenger’s current becalmed location in quarantine to a station located near the badlands, to Deep Space 9, to Bajor, to the Trill homeworld, to a science station on a moon circling a planet with a pre-warp civilization and ending with to two locations along the Romulan border where the U.S.S. Vox and the U.S.S. Enterprise had been on patrol.  
T’Lok sat down next to Tauk and stared with him at the progression.  
“Looks great, doesn’t it?” Tauk said. “A nice, simple progression.”  
T’Lok nodded silently.  
“Now watch what happens when I animate it. One second equals one 24-hour day. Run animation.” The computer knew when it was being talked to. The incident markers went dark, then the marker on the Trill homeworld lit up. About a minute later, the marker for the Vox’s patrol station lit up and less than a second later, the marker on Bajor lit up. Nearly a minute later it was Deep Space 9, then less than a second later markers on either side of Bajor lit up simultaneously. The last two markers were the Enterprise’s duty station on the Romulan border then the Challenger - located on separate ends of the chart. They lit up within five seconds of each other.  
“Not in order,” T’Lok observed.  
“It isn’t a pattern at all,” Tauk replied. “It’s simply not possible. At top warp it would take at least ten days to get from the Enterprise on the Romulan border to the Challenger just outside this system.”  
T’Lok was watching Tauk now.  
“It gets worse,” he said. “Much worse. Display initial set.”  
Again, the computer knew when it was being addressed and responded by shrinking the map with the location markers so it displayed the entire United Federation of Planets. In addition the eight red location markers, another nineteen green location markers showed up - five of them around Earth and two on Vulcan.

T’Lok stood up slowly - then, just as slowly sat back down, staring at the display. “Lieutenant, what am I looking at?”  
“Seventeen accidents and two missing vessel reports. All involve the death of a married or committed couple - one human, one half-human and half-trill.” Tauk’s voice was as grim as T’Lok had ever heard. “It gets worse - these deaths cover a ten-year span and several of the accidents killed more than the couple involved. And the last two green incidents coincide with the red incidents.”  
T’Lok was getting used to bad news. “That isn’t the worst of it, is it?”  
“Display Earth only,” said Tauk. The display rapidly shifted until it only showed the revolving Earth. All five incidents were on the eastern seaboard of the North American continent. “Home in on the group.” The continent kept growing. “Two in New York City, one in Providence, Rhode Island. Hartford, Connecticut and the first one in Boston, Massachusetts. Look at the date stamp.”  
It took T’Lok a few moments to realize the significance of this information. Her eyes widened - as if they weren’t wide enough already.  
“There’s more,” said Tauk. “Four dead in a fire in a breakfast diner. Sixteen dead in a building explosion - during a breakfast ceremony. At least two killers, two different M.O., but the same target populations and same signature. I didn’t find it in every one of these incidents - but most of them.” Tauk put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, speaking more softly. “T’Lok, the trill disapprove of interspecies romance and breeding far more than most Federation member species. There aren’t a lot of half-trill, half-humans running around. Twenty-nine of them, twenty-nine confirmed deaths in ten years. Out of a total population of less than 3,000. That’s about one in every one-hundred and three.”  
T’Lok took a deep breath. Tauk had never seen her look so frightened. If a smiling vulcan was just weird, a terrified vulcan was almost infectiously terrifying. Even though T’Lok was only half-vulcan, she was still slightly telepathic and Tauk could occasionally sense her emotions. He could definitely feel her fear now.  
“Tauk,” she said, her voice hushed, “this isn’t murder… It’s genocide..”

3.5


	6. Episode 3.6 - A Private Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice Minerva Irons has a dinner with several of her children and their descendants.
> 
> _Similar features on faces from dozens of different species - distinctive features from one species mingling with the next - almost as though a new race were being born out of the combination of many._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I envisioned Irons as a matriarch with an enormous family. She has children from four marriages - each marriage limited by contract to a certain number of years. Irons is almost as astonished by her longevity and prolonged fertility as everyone else - but she has made use of it. Many of her children and some of her grandchildren look much older than she does.

3.6  
A Private Dinner

Minerva Irons was attending a private family dinner - private meaning family members only - it was far from an intimate affair. The only member of Captain Irons’ crew present was her andorian chief medical officer and best friend, Dr. Tali Shae. And since one of Dr. Shae’s nieces was married to one of the Justice’s great grandchildren, she was technically family as well. They sat next to each other and across from Irons’ first husband, an elderly vulcan named Mavar and his current wife, a much younger vulcan named T’mov.  
Four of Irons’ children from her first marriage lived on Ocean and were at the table along with their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren and two babies - Irons’ great-great-great-grandchildren. Another child by her first marriage - the youngest - had travelled from Earth for this reunion. Additionally, children from her three other marriages were present - three of them predominately human, one part denobulan and one whose father was half bajoran, half cardassian. And a dozen or so of their descendants.  
Mavar’s son by his second marriage and four children by his current marriage also lived on Ocean along with their families - all of whom were present around a number of joined tables with a large serving table inside the open inner ring.  
In all, well over sixty people with heritage from nearly two-dozen separate species - all of whom were related by blood or marriage - were seated around this large ballroom. Six generations of an enormous family. While Mavar’s other descendants were exclusively vulcan, Irons’ children were as liberal about interspecies marriage as their matriarch. And every one of Irons’ descendants had inherited whatever blend of genetics that had made Justice Minerva Irons such a remarkable beauty. Similar features on faces from dozens of different species - distinctive features from one species mingling with the next - almost as though a new race were being born out of the combination of many. And these were only that minority of her descendants who had been able to make the journey.  
If Irons could be forgiven some vanity about her exceptional beauty, her pride in her massive and extremely diverse brood was equally understandable, evident to all present and a source of amusement. Among her descendants were Star Fleet officers, elected officials, eminent scientists and many, many lawyers and judges.

Although she had visited here just a little over a year previously, Irons was concerned about her first husband - he looked much older than when she had last seen him. His current wife, T’mov, spoke up, “You still look entirely unchanged, Minerva.”  
Irons replied, “I want to thank you again, T’mov, for opening your home and your lives to my crew and my family.”  
“You and your family are my family, Minerva. Your friends are people of good character and their presence welcome. Mavar and I have kept your old rooms in the main building for you in hopes that when you eventually retire, you will return home. It is my selfish wish that you join us sooner rather than later.”  
Mavar stretched his neck with some effort. “I near my two-hundredth year and old age has me firmly in its grasp. Given you are only a quarter vulcan, I find your apparently perpetual youth both surprising and surprisingly gratifying.”  
Irons’ looked down at her right arm, still in a sling. “Alas, that youth is not so apparent on the inside. The end of my years is also approaching with dismaying haste.”  
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Mavar said, “But from your good doctor’s expression I gather the story is quite amusing…”  
“I got into a fist fight with a couple of men,” Irons replied with a faint grin. “I ended up knocking them both out with a gavel and broke my wrist in the process. Tali recommended we let the bone heal itself the old-fashioned way. Apparently my bones are no longer strong enough for sonic-growth/bone replication therapy.”  
Mavar raised an eyebrow - the vulcan equivalent of a belly laugh. “A gavel? How appropriate…” Various family members laughed while other vulcans joined in a flurry of eyebrow raising.  
“Twenty years ago I would have juggled them like colored balls - well, considering their girth - bowling balls.” Irons’ wry humor was infectious.  
Mavar got unsteadily to his feet, provoking everyone else around the tables to rise as well. T’mov handed him a glass containing a sparkling yellow drink made from pineapples that had been harvested from less than a mile away. “You are here. And I am still here. And our families are with us. Do you remember our marriage contract negotiations?”  
Minerva Irons smiled at her first husband’s odd reference, wondering where he was going. “Vividly. It is the only time I think I ever saw you nervous.”  
“I gave you everything you asked for, a fifteen year marriage contract - non-renewable, nine children, custody arrangements and the requirement that all of our children and their descendants maintain the Irons family name. I had never seen a document like it. Page after page of requirements. Solidly logical, except for one thing. I did not see the logic in my taking your family name as well. The only provision I did not agree to.”  
Irons laughed, “Mavar, you might have been able to talk me out of many of those provisions…”  
“I’m glad I did not. Over the years I have come to see the wisdom in them. I actually heard it first from a ferengi trader many years ago. He said, ‘Never try to cheat an Irons. When you deal with one of them, you’re dealing with all of them. And they’re everywhere’.” The elderly vulcan managed a slight smile. And then coughed slightly. “So I wanted to take this late date to let you know I have come to agree to all of your terms. A few months ago, I legally changed my name. And now all of my children shall be known as the children of Mavar Irons.”  
Dr. Tali Shae lifted her glass. “That is well worth drinking to - family”  
Several of the people in the room lifted their glasses as well, filled with various drinks, and echoed her sentiment in several different languages - “Family.”  
T’mov assisted her elderly husband back into his chair.

3.6


	7. Episode 2.7 - Ivonvic's Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rear Admiral Samantha Burton does not like having a political prisoner in her brig. 
> 
> She lets slip a detail that Governor Emory Ivonovic will long remember...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love it when authors seed tiny details in the early part of a story that come back and become far more important than they at first appear. The information Admiral Burton inadvertently reveals will give Ivonovic a vital advantage...
> 
> _The vulcan naturalborn movement was probably the most dangerous - for nearly a hundred years they had been trying to pry Vulcan and all vulcan colonies away from the Federation and into an alliance with the Romulan Empire._

3.7  
Ivonovic’s Defense

Rear Admiral Samantha Burton was not wild over keeping a planetary governor in her brig at Starbase Eleven. The Hunter had beamed him over while in transit to Ocean - the planet around which SB11 orbited. Even though Emory Ivonovic had well known ties to some of the most violent radical movements in the sector, since he had been elected - even if fraudulently - holding him felt uncomfortably to the admiral as though she were holding a political prisoner.  
True - his political statements and policies were considered very dangerous precedents to be setting on any federation world, much less one of the original charter worlds and one of Earth’s oldest colonies. But that only increased the danger that imprisoning him could render him a martyr for the reactionary elements who virulently supported him. It had been nearly three hundred years since an open human purist had gained so much political power. Even if the election had been fraudulent, it was clear there was a vast naturalborn movement not only on the Colony of New Hope, but gaining membership and acceptance throughout the Federation.   
And it wasn’t limited to humanity. The vulcan naturalborn movement was probably the most dangerous - for nearly a hundred years they had been trying to pry Vulcan and all vulcan colonies away from the Federation and into an alliance with the Romulan Empire. Nearly every humanoid species in the Alpha Quadrant, with the possible exceptions of the denobulans and, unexpectedly, the klingons, had recently seen a resurgence in reactionary racial naturalborn movements and interspecies violence was on the rise throughout the Federation.

Burton had the unenviable task of arranging for Ivonvic’s legal defense. She took a small detail of custody specialists with her to interview the incarcerated governor. Ivonovic had been brought from his cell to a small conference room. A handsome and well-groomed older man, Ivonovic sat in a simple chair at a small, plastic table as though it were the office chair behind his desk in the Planetary Administration Building on Utopia Colony. He had clearly used the time in the brig to groom himself carefully and pull his thoughts together. 

“Governor Ivonovic,” Burton began.  
“Admiral Burton,” the governor responded evenly. He was carefully controlling his emotions and paying attention to every detail for a clue how to turn this interview to his advantage. Being graceful under pressure was a critical skill for any politician and Ivonovic had had sufficient time in the brig to smooth his anger and develop a strategy.  
“I am charged with organizing your legal defense,” Burton said. “I am not here to interview you on the crime for which you have been indicted or any other crimes of which you are accused or that you may have committed. I have recommended the law firm of Sorek, Brack and Evens, but you may have another preference. Sorek is considered one of the most successful defense attorneys in the Federation. I don’t know him personally, but I have met him on occasion and have seen him argue a few cases within Star Fleet. He is very persuasive.”  
“I doubt there is a better lawyer in the Federation,” Ivonovic started.  
Burton continued, “I spoke to him this morning. He has been expecting to be called in on this case ever since he became aware of the pending indictment. He has agreed to take your case.”  
Ivonovic smiled. “I greatly appreciate your efforts, Admiral, but I would prefer to be represented by a human, not a vulcan. I would prefer to use my personal attorneys - the Trevor Trust on New Hope Colony.”  
Burton was not surprised. The governor was making a tremendous mistake. His own law firm consisted largely of relatives and various yes-men. He could have had one of the greatest orators and legal strategists of the age. He was choosing a small firm of apparatchiks instead.  
“That is your choice, Governor. You will not be allowed to communicate with them via subspace radio, but I will pass along your request to them. They should send a representative here to coordinate with you directly and accompany you to Earth.”  
Ivonovic smiled. “Tell them I want Joanna and ask her to bring my gray suit.”

3.7


	8. Episode 3.8 -  Sarekson Carrera Commanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Sarekson Carrera is taking the U.S.S. Hunter to dock in Star Base Eleven for repairs and upgrades. In the process, he foils a plot to break Emory Ivonovic out of the SB11 brig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The U.S.S. Hunter has a number of brilliant and talented officers. In addition to being the boy genius who helped build the Hunter, Engineering Director Dr. Carrera is also a decisive commanding officer. At 23 he is one of the youngest senior officers in the fleet.
> 
> This segment also provides a description of the Hunter - a small, menacing looking ship. It is essentially a prowler.
> 
> _Hunter wasn’t designed to be pretty - it was all business and its business was law enforcement._

3.8  
Sarekson Carrera Commanding 

Dr. Sarekson Carrera, director of the Hunter’s engineering department, sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Hunter with Ensign Ethan Phillips at the helm and Flight Engineer Thomas Hobbs at the weapons and communications console behind the captain’s chair. Chief Flight Specialist Dewayne Guth was piloting the tactical unit. The two interceptors and the uparmored shuttlecraft referred to as “the wagon” that were usually housed within the Hunter would remain on the beach. But it was time for the Hunter itself to go into space-dock for checkup, repairs, retrofits and upgrades.  
The liftoffs went smoothly and the tactical unit reconnected to the platform shortly after leaving the atmosphere.

The Hunter (officially a Patrol class vessel) did not look like any other Star Fleet design. The platform was powered by a single, large nacelle connected to the underside of the saucer section by a thick pylon, which housed the main engineering section. Unlike the traditional roughly cylindrical design, the Hunter’s nacelle was wide and flat, forming a broad foot on which the vessel perched when landing. The saucer section was ovular, and instead of projected forward, was nested and centered over the nacelle. The upper decks were swept back and nested into each other. This design made the ship extremely compact - only a meter taller than the Escort class, shorter along the beam and much narrower, which caused the interior to be cramped and crowded. The smallest, fastest and most nimble of the fleet, the Patrol class was designed for speed and stealth, not comfort.   
The exterior of the ship was covered with a dark material instead of the bright metallic white associated with most Star Fleet vessels. By treaty, Star Fleet had refrained from developing cloaking technology.  
But the Hunter was designed using a more conventional type of camouflage. When the QuickQuiet order was given, power could be reduced to the point that it would barely register even on the most sensitive scanners and the dark color and flowing shape of the hull - as well as the outer layers of materials - were designed to scatter active scans and be nearly invisible to passive scans. This gave the Hunter the ability to lie in wait along shipping lanes and catch pirates at unawares. It also made the Hunter a hard target for anyone trying to beam aboard without a tracking channel from within and a hard target for attempts to upload malicious software.   
These design elements gave the Hunter a uniquely compact and menacing look compared to the more flowing and aesthetically pleasing traditional Star Fleet design. Hunter wasn’t designed to be pretty - it was all business and its business was law enforcement.

Moments after the two parts of the Hunter had rejoined, Dr. Carrera received a voice message from Star Base 11. “Be advised, unauthorized activity in the eastern LaGrange point.”   
Carrera responded immediately. “Shields up. Yellow alert. Mr. Guth, remain on the tactical unit. Star Base Eleven,” the Hunter’s communication system immediately opened a channel.  
“Hunter, this is Star Base Eleven, Lieutenant Casper Yates on watch, go ahead.”  
“This is Sarekson Carrera, commanding. We received your message about unauthorized activity in the eastern LaGrange point and are diverting to investigate.”  
“Hunter, be advised, that message did not come from this watch station,” Lt. Yates responded.  
Dr. Carrera’s reaction was immediate. “Lieutenant Yates, Mr. Hobbs, please initiate full communication encryption. Mr. Hobbs, Red Alert, activate all weapon systems, load torpedo tubes and bring us about. Lieutenant Yates, I recommend you put the base and all ships in this system on red alert. We have someone attempting to divert us to the eastern LaGrange point. Do you have any assets located there?”  
“We have orbital stabilizers located in each LaGrange point, but no other assets,” Yates responded.  
Carrera asked, “Can you fly us some support out here?”  
“Admiral Burton is unavailable, I have already called for…” The lieutenant on the screen abruptly stood up and a lieutenant commander took his place.   
“This is Lieutenant Commander Holly Nash, standby Hunter.”

Within less than a minute, twenty interceptors launched from SB11, along with two shuttlecraft. A moment later, one of the space docks opened and the U.S.S. Pierre, a heavily armed escort class vessel, somewhat larger than the Hunter, emerged.

The watch duty officer, Lt. Cmdr. Nash, returned to the screen. “Hunter, be advised the Pierre, under Captain Nichols will investigate. Maintain position, protect Ocean, and await further instructions. I am assigning two interceptors to assist you. You may keep your birds on the ground but I recommend you staff them. Star Base Eleven out.”  
Before Dr. Carrera could put in a call to the planet, a small vessel emerged from the space dust and rocks collected in SB11’s eastern LaGrange point and moved at high speed away from the system. Interceptors were not capable of sustained warp travel, but could make limited warp jumps. Six interceptors jumped and surrounded the shuttle, lacing it with low-power phaser fire and disabling its warp engines before the shuttle could go to warp.  
A moment later the Pierre had the intruding vessel in a tractor beam and was towing it, leaking drive plasma, back to SB11.  
“Reduce alert status to yellow,” Carrera ordered, and then waited and watched as the interceptors swept the system, making detailed investigations at both of SB11’s LaGrange points, then spiraling outward to sweep the planet’s LaGrange points, making a wide loop around the planetary system.  
“SB11 is hailing us, sir,” said Flight Engineer Thomas Hobbs.  
“Put them through, Mr. Hobbs,” Carrera said.  
This time it was Rear Admiral Samantha Burton at the watch station. “Well done, Dr. Carrera. It appears you may have foiled a jail-break attempt. My people have swept the system, but we’ll keep a watchful eye for any other intruders. I am cancelling red alert and returning Star Base Eleven to normal operations. You may dock in E Bay when ready. The Pierre’s retrofits have been completed, so they will remain on patrol in the system for now. Burton out.”

3.8


	9. Episode 3.9 - Surf Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Lon takes on the task of teaching Kenny Dolphin how to surf. 
> 
> Dolphin joins T'Lok Smith and the investigations team to help puzzle out the mysterious serial killings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than usual. I could have split it into two chapters, but it seemed more natural simply to follow Lt. Dolphin throughout the day.
> 
> _“Not killers,” Dolphin said. “Assassins.”_   
>  _“What’s the difference?” Tauk asked._   
>  _Shran let his fist fall to the table with a thump. “Motive...”_

3.9  
Surf Lesson

  
  
Lt. T’Lok Smith briefed Justice Irons about Tauk’s investigations in the early hours before dawn, then went off to find Lt. Dolphin. She didn’t have to look for him. She was in constant light telepathic contact with her childhood friend, Ensign T’Lon. They often walked with their arms linked. Most people thought this was just another of T’Lok’s girlish fancies that T’Lon put up with. But T’Lon was a powerful telepath and the physical contact allowed the two to communicate with tremendous speed and depth, pairing T’Lok’s considerable social skills with T’Lon’s keen telepathic observations. It was a tremendous advantage to both of them.  
T’Lok knew that Dolphin was with T’Lon, which made him easy to find.  
  
Ensign T’Lon awoke with Lt. Dolphin’s arm draped around her. At some point in the night she had gotten cold and pushed up against him for warmth. He was awakening as well. He lifted his arm as she moved to get up, respecting her wish for silence as she walked away, allowing the telepathic contact to fade as gently as it had begun hours earlier. Dolphin had an unusually disciplined mind for a human and she had enjoyed his stillness.  
T’Lok touched T’Lon’s arm as they passed, and with that touch they exchanged what would have been an hour of communication between other people.  
Dolphin had rolled onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head. T’Lok could sense he had decided to relax a bit instead of launching into his usual morning calisthenics. She could barely feel his mind only because of T’Lon’s night-long mental contact with him - leaving a sort of telepathic silhouette from which T’Lok could discern the outlines of those features of his personality that T’Lon had gently explored.  
T’Lok felt a moment’s pity for Dolphin - he was trying to recapture some wonderful sense of peace he had felt last night. She had other plans for him. She had initially come to summon him to the investigations room, but T’Lon had given her a better idea.  
Dolphin was looking up at the early morning sky when T’Lok’s face suddenly appeared upside down just above his. He caught his breath - startled that he hadn’t noticed her stepping up to him and kneeling on the sand just above his head. “Did you have a wonderful night, Director?” she asked with a smile.  
Dolphin relaxed back into the sand. “Maybe it’s something about this place. Maybe it’s something about being humiliated on a surfboard,” he responded with a smile.  
“And maybe it’s something about T’Lon…” T’Lok suggested.  
Dolphin closed his eyes and chuckled lightly, “Naw - couldn’t be that.”  
“Well, she wants you to get your lazy butt up and join her on the north shore,” T’Lok said lightly. “She’s going to get you up on that surfboard or whack you in the head with it if you won’t learn.”  
“I’m afraid she’s set herself an insurmountable task - well - at least the teaching part, not the whacking part. I’m pretty much hopeless on the waves,” Dolphin observed wryly.  
“T’Lon’s doctorate is in Physical Education. She even taught Pep how to surf. We had to cut down a door to build a surfboard for him, but she got him up on it. You aren’t too tall to do this - or too old.” T’Lok pressed her hand on Dolphin’s chest and then quickly sprang to her feet. “Come on.. up! We are not taking ‘no’ for an answer..”  
Dolphin got to his feet, making some pretense at being arthritic - slightly rueful that it was more true than he preferred to admit. T’Lok put her hand on his shoulder, turned him toward the north shore, pointed toward T’Lon, who was selecting a pair of surfboards. “Off with you now - I have other things to do!” Dolphin took a few steps, dragging his feet, then picked up to a jog.  
T’Lok smiled. She deeply enjoyed eliciting playfulness in other people’s behavior. She had been pleasantly surprised to find it in Dr. Dolphin - despite his reputation for prejudice against hybrids. Polite society across the Federation considered this man to be a monster - the man who broke the Federation. At Justice Irons’ recommendation, T’Lok had actually read Kenny Dolphin’s infamous doctoral dissertation on the morality of hybridizing sentient species. And understood it. She mused that he was the one more often prejudged.

Ensign T’Lon waited at the water’s edge. When Lt. Dolphin arrived, she handed him the board she had selected for him and began preparing hers. He did the same, imitating her behaviors. Once the boards were ready, T’Lon initiated a mind-meld - something Dolphin had never experienced. It was nothing like he had expected. She was transferring a decade of experience and knowledge directly from her muscles to his - from her sense of balance to his. He could almost feel the waves under her feet again and again. His muscles weren’t conditioned by this experience, but they now contained something of the memory of how to do this. Shaping them to actually deliver the fine level of control T’Lon was capable of would take years of exercise and experience.   
T’Lon let the mind-meld fade gently, but maintained telepathic contact as she removed her fingers from his temples. A contact made far stronger by her recent presence in his mind. They paddled out onto the waves and he could sense her instructing him to let his muscles become her muscles - to do without thinking.

And he failed miserably. But on these larger waves - currently cresting about 25’ - it took more strength to pull himself back to the surface. And he failed miserably again. And again..  
  
T’Lon brought her board next to his and put her hand on his back. The telepathic connection was incredibly powerful, but she was speaking as well. “You are thinking. As long as you are thinking like you live inside your head, you cannot be part of the wave.” She rapped him on the forehead with her fingertips. “You do not exist in there. That is not where you are.” The words echoed powerfully in his mind - overwhelming him with waves of telepathy - mingling in his mind with hypnotic power. She spread her arms into the sky behind her. “Here you are behind me.” Her hands plunged into the water. “Here you are beneath me.”  
Without thinking, responding to her unspoken request, Dolphin plunged his hands into the water as she said, “There I am beneath you.” She put her hand on his chest and brought his hand to hers with a thought. “Here is where the wave is. Feel it coming.” She turned, laid back down on her board and paddled away. He followed, not looking at the wave - there was no need to look at it. He and T’Lon were not separate from the wave - they were just a part of it. The part of the wave that was cutting through it. It thundered through him as they rode through it in tandem - there was no thinking - T’Lon’s powerful mind prevented thought. Just as she was indistinct from the air they breathed and the water they were riding on, he was indistinct from her.  
Gradually, Kenny Dolphin became aware of the wave screaming exultantly - ripping through his body - hurting his throat - vibrating in his chest. It was only at the moment they came off the wave that he realized that he was the one screaming at the top of his lungs - laughing, crying, completely overwhelmed with exultation. He could feel T’Lon smiling slightly as she gradually released his mind.  
A few people had gathered on the beach to watch, the enormous David Pepper making the others look like children by comparison. Kenny Dolphin could not stop screaming, his voice hoarse, laughing, he had never felt anything like this - this had to be why these people loved surfing so much.  
“Go on,” T’Lon said as he paused to take a ragged breath. “You’re not going to be able to get back on these waves again in your current state. But you will remember this feeling tomorrow. Start with the smaller waves and work your way up.”  
He wanted to thank her but there was too much going on in his mind for words. There was no way to communicate through the log jam of words. He turned and offered his hand. She took it as soon as it was offered and a rush of gratitude and emotions flowed from him. T’Lon released his hand quickly and almost smiled again. “Too much. Way too much. Wait until you can sort it out and we’ll talk again.” She turned and paddled back out to the waves.  
  
Dolphin watched her for a moment, then turned and paddled back toward the shore. He found himself shouting exultantly again as he waded onto the shore. David Pepper was laughing. He placed his enormous hand on Kenny’s chest - covering most of it. “I remember what it felt like - that first time - with her in my mind. She is the best instructor there is. As much philosophy as athletics”  
“I can’t,” Dolphin started, then tried again, “too many words. It’s just - Wooohooo!” he shouted exultantly again, then sagged against his board.  
  
“Lieutenant Dolphin - good first ride - a fifteen meter wave,” came a voice inside Dolphin’s chest. It was Justice Irons, coming through the communicator embedded in his chest. Dolphin had not gotten used to this device - it was not in general use by Star Fleet - only by some special forces units. Justice Irons had insisted on using it for her entire crew.  
“Come to the investigations office, Mr. Dolphin. I’m afraid I’m about to spoil the rest of your day..” Dolphin looked and could see Justice Irons standing on the balcony. He patted Pep on the chest. “Got to run,” he said and took off toward the main building at a jog, stopping only briefly to put up his board.  
It wasn’t until he reached the resort that Dolphin thought it might be a good idea for him to get a shower and exchange his swim trunks for a uniform. Fortunately, someone else had thought about that too and an appropriate uniform was waiting for him.  
  
Justice Irons, T’Lok, Tauk and Investigator Shran were waiting for him in the investigations room. Tauk gave a full briefing and brought everyone up to speed.  
Irons was the first to comment. “Great work Tauk.” Irons turned toward her director of flight operations. “Dr. Dolphin, I wanted you to hear this from me first. Look at the date stamp of the incident in the initial group listed as incident #1.”  
Dolphin had been paying attention throughout the briefing, but his blood was still singing from riding a 50’ wave. He looked at the date stamp, then looked at it again, and felt all the exultation draining out of him. “Six months to the day after my dissertation was republished by the Harvard press.” Dolphin let out a slow sigh and rolled his head to release tension in his neck. “Another of my intellectual step-children,” he continued grimly.  
Tauk spoke up. “It isn’t like that, sir. You didn’t make anyone do these awful things. And I’ve done the math - and I’m not the only one. You’re right by the numbers.”  
Justice Irons interrupted. “Be that as it may, this is no longer just philosophy. We have a killer to catch. Tauk, I want you to sit on the initial set and focus on the Challenger. They have been under quarantine for nearly three full days now. I am also concerned that our current killer might use news of the initial set of killings to sow confusion. Enough confusion to cover an escape.”  
Tauk looked at his captain, perplexed. “You don’t want to notify Star Fleet about them?”  
“Not just yet,” Irons responded. “Leave that to me. It is to our advantage to not tip our hand. I will notify the top of the chain - they need to keep that investigation top secret. To that end, I want you to curtail your inquiries into it. Let’s leave killer #1 up to Star Fleet Intelligence and focus on killer #2.”  
Dolphin looked up from his dark thoughts, “Killer… No, we’re not dealing with killers.”  
Everyone looked at him blankly. Lynhart Shran’s antennae twitched and went up. T’Lok opened her mouth. She couldn’t read Kenny’s mind, but she could tell he was convinced he was on to something. Irons winked at her.

“Not killers,” Dolphin said. “Assassins.”  
  
“What’s the difference?” Tauk asked.  
Shran let his fist fall to the table with a thump. “Motive.”  
“Right,” Dolphin continued. “When it was just one, we could posit a sociopath. But two, using the same signature and the first one secret for all this time… #2 is not a copycat. They’re not doing this for political reasons or because they have something against trills in particular. They’re getting paid or they’re getting extorted.”  
“And just where did you get your investigative chops, Director?” T’Lok asked lightly.  
Shran spoke up. “You didn’t know that Mr. Dolphin’s first career was with the District Attorney’s office in New York?”  
  
Everyone looked at Shran.  
“Tiny universe,” he continued with his gravelly voice. “I was a detective for the New York City police department for six years. I worked for Lieutenant Dolphin… Lieutenant Linda Dolphin - this fellow’s ex-wife.” Shran turned toward Dolphin. “She said you were the worst assistant district attorney in the history of the office. Low conviction rate. Too damn interested in the truth,” Shran concluded.  
“They fired me,” Dolphin said. “So I went back to school and got my Ph.D. in philosophy.”  
“And wrote yourself into the history books,” Shran continued, “They should have left well enough alone and put up with your conviction rate.”  
“No,” Dolphin replied, “I was miserable in the job. I was about to quit anyway. Anyway - there is a political motive to these killings. But it isn’t the killers - it’s the person, or persons, paying them or extorting them.”  
“Which means you can throw out a bundle of assumptions about these killers,” Shran concluded. “Like the idea they have to be trills, or psychopaths - they might be, but they don’t have to be.”  
“And the breakfast signature…” T’Lok followed. “A way to communicate to their employer? To let them know who did the deed so they get paid, or rewarded, or the threat held at bay?”  
“So how does all this help us with killer #2?” Tauk asked.  
“Killer #2 has to be a powerful telepath,” Irons concluded. “Either a vulcan or a betazoid of unusual ability. A vulcan could use a series of mind-melds to implant instructions - but it would have to be someone with far greater ability than I have ever encountered. And they’re attacking the human partner. Humans have far greater resistance to telepathy than trills. Even T’Lon wouldn’t be able to make a human murder their spouse. Or commit suicide. Unless they already wanted to.”  
Irons continued, “A betazoid of sufficient power and training could manipulate someone’s mind from long distance in real time - they could be in a cloaked ship or even posted on a nearby planet or asteroid. But the same problem applies. It would take someone of far greater ability than I have ever encountered.”  
  
Dolphin took a sudden breath - hissing between his teeth. “Your honor, we’re not looking for a vulcan. Or a betazoid… We’re looking for a hybrid.”  
Tauk picked up on the thought. “A genetically enhanced hybrid - vulcan and betazoid - with all of the telepathic abilities of both species genetically enhanced - the dials turned up as far as they can go. It would take all of those things - multiple mind melds, contact from a distance. Behaviors implanted and then triggered. The victim tries to fight against the implanted behaviors, but there is the telepath, working from afar. Let’s say they’re on Deep Space 9 or Bajor - right in the middle of this pattern. Able to reach to both ends,” the little ferengi continued, “Your honor, I think the Challenger can come out of quarantine. Our killer is not on board. And now we have someone to look for - and a place to start looking.”

3.9


	10. Episode 3.10 - Life is a Beach...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos ensues as the serial killer makes it personal with the Hunter's crew....
> 
> _Their chanting was very high-pitched and sounded somewhat like Gregorian chants being hummed at a very high speed by a swarm of angry bees. It was an astoundingly irritating sound, but, like most binar communications, mercifully brief - the entire religious ceremony lasting no more than eight seconds._
> 
> _Buttons ran toward Justice Irons, sprinting across the sand at a speed that would give a gazelle an inferiority complex._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of humor.. a little bit of terror.. some action adventure..

3.10  
Life is a Beach…

  
“Thank you for helping out, Chief. You may go back to Ocean if you wish.” The communications system carried Dr. Carrera’s voice from the main bridge to the even more cramped bridge of the tactical unit. Guth was reclined in the pilot’s seat - nothing to do now that the tactical unit was attached to the platform and the re-combined Hunter docked inside Star Base Eleven.  
“Oh I definitely wish, but I’m glad to help, sir,” Dewayne Guth replied. He made his way from the tactical unit to one of the ports and onto SB11. Before heading to a transporter room, he took the opportunity to get a shower and a shave. Guth shaved his head in part to show his spots. He was defiantly proud of his trill heritage even though the spots barely showed up on his dark skin - a legacy of his African American heritage. Most trills were light skinned - those with ancestry from sunnier climes simply had more spots and some were entirely spotted. This was Guth’s mother’s heritage and his spots also covered his entire body.  
Within moments of a much needed grooming, Chief Guth was able to find a transporter room and was soon returned to the beam-in booth at the resort on Ocean. Just in time for breakfast.  
The Irons family was accustomed to welcoming the Hunter’s crew and had chosen to wait until the morning of their third day on planet. This allowed the crew to work out a lot of their excitement and hit the waves so they wouldn’t be restless. While the ceremony was designed by vulcans, it was designed with Star Fleet crews in mind.

Chief Flight Specialist Dewayne Guth walked out onto the beach in the pre-dawn hour awash in the sound of a collection of well-tuned vulcans chanting solemnly by torch light. He smiled to himself and remembered when Commander Pepper had treated him and a few other friends to one of the giant first officer’s favorite collections of klingon chants - celebrating the defining moment in klingon mythology - the day the klingons had killed their gods for being petty and troublesome. Which made klingons the most eminently sensible people Guth had ever heard of. Then there were the symbiote birthday celebrations his mother had taken him to, replete with trills chanting stentoriously. And a bajoran religious festival he had witnessed while on Deep Space 9 - complete with chanting bajorans.  
“The whole universe is Roman Catholic,” Guth mused to himself. He had heard nearly a dozen different species chanting - for various ceremonial reasons - always in languages that sounded suspiciously like Latin. Even the tiny binars, who communicated in a computer language at tremendous speed that could only be maintained because of the computer implants in their heads, had their own ceremonial chants. Their chanting was very high-pitched and sounded somewhat like Gregorian chants being hummed at a very high speed by a swarm of angry bees. It was an astoundingly irritating sound, but, like most binar communications, mercifully brief - the entire religious ceremony lasting no more than eight seconds.  
  
Chief Guth picked up a glass and sniffed its contents. Whatever it was, it smelled fruity, delicious and extremely alcoholic. The alcohol content must have been enough to loosen a vulcan’s tongue - Guth was getting a contact high just from sniffing it. There weren’t that many people present - maybe forty. The chanting came to an end at the very moment of sunrise and in the growing light, Tamar Irons, Justice Irons’ oldest daughter and Ocean’s planetary administrator, raised her glass.  
“My family has farmed these islands for nearly four hundred years. Like my ancestors, I have welcomed many, many Star Fleet crews to this beach and this resort. Since the vulcan space command was merged with Star Fleet nearly three hundred years ago, only Star Fleet crews have been allowed to visit this place. But you are not just any crew. You are my mother’s crew and many of you have become great friends. We consider you family and I will say to you what I have never said to any other Star Fleet crew: When your service with Star Fleet is over, you may return to this place and we will find homes for you. Or build them. So again I welcome you, not as the crew of a visiting Star Fleet vessel, but as family. Welcome Home!”  
Vulcan speeches rarely elicited cheers, but this one elicited serious cheering, cut short only by the desire of the crew to consume the sparkling, fruity and evidently quite powerful beverages they had been supplied with. Guth drained his glass and headed toward the breakfast table. A great buffet had been spread out, offering foods grown on these islands along with some enormous fish that had been smoked for days.  
  
“Welcome back, Chief,” Lt. Dolphin said, on spotting his senior pilot strolling toward the buffet table. Dolphin started to raise his glass, but suddenly looked down at his hand - something was wrong. He wasn’t holding a glass - he was holding a phaser. He had no idea where it came from. Dolphin suddenly found himself at war with his own right hand. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but no sound emerged.  
But his scream did not go unheard. Ensign T’Lon dropped her glass, dodged around a few people, leapt over a table and landed in the sand behind Dolphin. Her hands went to his temples - she was already in telepathic contact with him.  
Dewayne Guth was frozen where he stood - not with fear. He was a pilot and was trained to evade phaser fire. Something kept him rooted, screaming silently with terror, unable to move or to make a sound. Lt. T’Lok Smith tackled him at tremendous speed, slamming the pilot to the ground and landing on top of him.  
As soon as Guth was no longer available as a target, Dolphin, assisted by T’Lon, finally managed to drop the phaser. He was finally able to scream - he fell to his knees, letting out a short, ragged howl of anguish. Behind him, T’Lon, her fingers still on his temples, had also fallen to her knees, gasping with effort.  
Lt. Cmdr. Mlady, who had been largely absent from the beach, raced toward them at lightning speed and retrieved the phaser from the ground, then stepped back, a strange look of frustration on her face.  
Aware that the danger was over, T’Lok helped Guth to his feet, then hugged him. Guth was badly shaken and hugged back, still shuddering as the adrenaline that had flooded his system started to go sour.  
Dolphin lost consciousness and collapsed back into T’Lon’s arms, his head lolling on her shoulder, eyes wide open, staring at the sky, seeing nothing. T’Lon kept one hand on his face, maintaining telepathic contact, a grimace of pain on her face. Another vulcan knelt in front of them, placing one hand on Dolphin’s face and one hand on T’Lon’s face, helping to stabilize them with her own mind. T’Lon’s expression of pain relaxed and she allowed the other vulcan to support her and the unconscious Lt. Dolphin.  
  
Investigator Buttons drained his glass slowly - any attempt to drink it too quickly would have made him choke. His partner and mentor, Investigator Shran stood next to him, his arm around the shoulders of his latest girlfriend, Belo Cantys. Buttons had no idea why the old man was so popular with the ladies. In the four years Buttons had worked with Shran he had seen the old man in many relationships - all of which ended either quickly or badly - sometimes both. But this time seemed different. Not so much because of Shran as because of Cantys. Shran had saved her life more than once and she clearly had no intention of letting him slip away at this point. Buttons was rather impressed.  
His chain of thought was interrupted by a commotion near the buffet table. He saw Ensign T’Lon leaping over a table, but it still took a few moments for him to put together what was happening. Shran figured it out first. Cantys leapt forward to help her commanding officer, but Shran caught her by the shoulder, delaying her. She turned and gave him an aggressive look.  
“Kid,” Shran said, “Don’t let anyone break that mind-meld. Stop anyone who tries - you got that?”  
Cantys boggled at him, then turned and raced off, clambering around or over anyone who got in her way.  
“Kid,” Shran said. Buttons could tell by the old man’s tone of voice that he was now the one being addressed. “Go get the judge. I need to talk to her. Fast!”  
Buttons had come to trust Shran’s instincts. The old man had served as a sniper for the Andorian Imperial Guard for more than thirty years - his instincts had been honed on the battlefields of a dozen worlds. Buttons ran toward Justice Irons, sprinting across the sand at a speed that would give a gazelle an inferiority complex.  
  
“Your honor,” Buttons said as he got close. It was enough to make Irons stop and turn. Shran caught up a few seconds later.  
“Boss,” he managed, his voice ragged with the effort of running at full tilt only a few dozen yards. Shran stopped and bent over, catching his breath. “Boss,” he managed again, wheezing.  
Justice Irons stepped up to Shran and put her hand on his back. “Investigator…” she said.  
“It’s Dolphin. And Tauk. You have to get them to Earth. All of us, you have to get all of us to Earth,” Shran’s voice was far more gravelly than usual. He stopped to cough and wheeze.  
Irons had not spent much time with the Investigator, but he was widely liked and even more widely respected. Her youngest daughter by Mavar was standing next to her. “China,” Irons said, “Go check on Tamar and T’Lon.”  
“Don’t let anyone break that mind-meld,” Shran managed.  
“And don’t let anyone break that mind-meld,” Justice Irons repeated, placing her hand briefly on her daughter’s chest.  
Irons smiled at the old investigator who was still catching his breath. “Conference mode, Shran, Buttons, Pepper, Gamor. Lieutenant Carrera…” The communicator embedded in her chest linked with the people she named.  
“Lieutenant Carrera,” she repeated. “How long before the Hunter can be ready to break orbit for Earth?”  
“Give me a moment, your Honor,” Carrera responded, then went silent for a moment. About a minute later, he responded again: “About two hours, probably less. But we will have to complete upgrades when we get to Earth. Some of the work can be done along the way.”  
“Make it ready, Lieutenant,” Irons said, “End conference mode.” She turned toward Shran, who had finally caught his breath, more or less. “Okay Investigator, what is this about, why do we have to go to Earth?”  
Shran’s unusually large antennae were twitching. Buttons realized they had started twitching this way about the same time all the commotion had begun. “You can’t feel it, Boss?” Shran asked.  
Irons lifted an eyebrow, “Let’s avoid pronouns for a moment, Mr. Shran. Feel what?”  
“We’re being scanned,” the old man responded. “I guess you don’t have much telepathic ability. I’m only half andorian, I don’t have that much either. But we can tell when we’re being scanned and defend our minds against it. You need to summon whatever defenses you can. T’Lok too. For the moment we don’t have to worry about Dolphin - we do have to worry about Tauk. I don’t know how much resistance ferengi have to being scanned.”  
Irons looked around, seeking someone, then said “Conference mode, Shae, Tauk, Shran, Smith. Hunter transporter room 1, who is on duty up there?”  
“This is Ensign Sun, your Honor.”  
“Locate Dr. Shae, Lieutenant Smith and Lieutenant Tauk and transport them to my location.”  
“Aye, Captain,” Sun responded.  
“What??” came Tauk’s voice over the link.  
“End conference mode,” Irons said.

A moment later Tauk, T’Lok and Dr. Tali Shae were each beamed in to join Justice Irons on the beach.  
“I could have walked…” Dr. Tali Shae started, then noticed how serious Irons and Shran were looking.  
“Tauk,” Irons said. “I hate to do this. We are going to sedate you. You will wake up on the Hunter.”  
“What???” Tauk stammered again as Dr. Shae stepped up behind him, hypospray in hand, already dialing in the appropriate chemical. She placed the delivery end to Tauk’s neck and with a sharp hissing sound, it delivered a powerful sedative that caused the little ferengi to crumple into Dr. Shae’s arms. She lowered him gently to the sand.  
“T’Lok, get your telepathic defenses up. Shran says we’re being scanned,” Irons said.  
The young lieutenant’s eyes unfocused briefly, then she looked at Irons. “Yes. It’s a light scan, but I suspect she’ll start digging when she starts bouncing off our defenses.”  
“She??” Irons and Shran said at the same moment.  
“It’s a woman,” T’Lok said. “Definitely a female mind. Powerful. I don’t think she’s noticed yet that I’m blocking her.”

Pep had joined the number of people around the fallen Kenneth Dolphin and T’Lon. “David,” came Irons’ voice from the communicator embedded in his chest.  
“Go ahead Min.”  
“You have 90 minutes to get everyone up to the Hunter. Have Lieutenant Gamor take Dolphin and T’Lon up in the wagon - using the transporter might interrupt their mind-meld. Make sure that doesn’t happen - both their lives depend on it,” Irons said.  
“Aye, Captain,” Pep responded, then immediately set to ordering the crew’s evacuation from Ocean. He made certain to evacuate the breakfast buffet, complete with sparkling beverages and smoked fish, up to the Hunter as well.

3 - Breakfast Serial


End file.
